My Sweet Carolina, Mia Cara Papa Ven's Story
by Dw1
Summary: We all know and love Jane Harvey-Berrick's "The Education of Sebastian" and "The Education of Caroline". Here is a little story Papa Venzi shared with me, parent to parent, one day. The delightful characters: Caro and Seb are all Ms Harvey-Berrick's creations; Papa Ven is all mine, though. He came to talk to ME. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1 The Prelude

_Chapter 1 : The Prelude_

My body is failing me… I'm dying, losing the battle with cancer like so many before me had and so may after me will… But I'm not afraid, neither am I sorry – I've lived my life and I've done it my way, just like Frank had sung in one of his songs… What I do regret is that the failing body and the pain I suffer make me give in more and more often and allow the medics administer the morphine shots. On one hand it does help to forget the pain, not relieve, no - the ever-persistent-pain is always there, at the back of one's senses… However - as I do not want others to see me in pain, I have to resort to giving in and accepting those injections. But on the other hand – the morphine does tend to play with my mind and my memories and there is so much to remember and ponder upon…

Some of the memories are wonderful and sweet, others not so much – above all I strive to, I HAVE TO remember how terribly and utterly I had failed my daughter's trust that she put in me from the very first day of her life. I had sworn to always be there for her, to protect her, to keep all the evils at bay, to fight her dragons… And I had failed… I failed to keep this promise. I totally, wretchedly, selfishly and cowardly deserted my daughter at the times she needed my guidance most…

…My daughter visits often, my wife not so much… She is busy as ever with her friends, her gossip and her Bridge Club… But I'm not complaining - I have my Cara coming here every day, Mia Piccola Principessa. Well – not so piccola any more, but Mia Cara Carolina is still as much my Principessa as ever. She used to complain that I named her Carolina on purpose, so that it would be easy for me to just call her Cara. But little did she know that her name came from the trusty old Neil Diamond's song – the "Sweet Caroline" – the only reason I had insisted on changing the English version of the name to Italian was that even though all my love for anything and everything American was so huge, somehow my ears much better preferred the sing-song sound of Italian Ca-RO-li-NA to the nice but rather insipid Ca-RO-line of American pronunciation…They somehow always managed to lose a syllable or two, those Yanks.

Lucille, my wife, did not care much for Neil Diamond. She much preferred the refined dulcet voice of Bing Crosby, so I came up with a story about great-great-aunt Carolina, who cursed our family and its firstborns unless they should be give names after her – Carolina for the girls, Carlito for the boys. I told my wife some stupid stories about my older sister, Bernadetta – the firstborn of my immediate family, whom bad luck would follow all the time as the result of my parents not appeasing the said great-great-aunt. None of that was true, of course – but Lucille ate it all up. For all her WASPish ways, she is more superstitious than any Italian women known to me… At that time that Cara was born, my patience for Lucille's stuck-up nose, mighty airs as general WASPish manner started to wan and I was not as keen as I used to be on giving in to her and her whims. The woman was just not cut to enjoy her life. She was always more concerned about what the neighbors are going to say about this or that than set to live as free as Dio wanted us to. But I cannot complain – she gave me the Love of my Life, my Tesoro, mia Cara, mia Piccola Principessa…

I was born in Italy, in a small village aptly named Capezzano Inferiore. The name could be translated as "Lower" Capezzone as well as "Inferior" Capezzone; and if you take into account that capezza means halter – well, you can understand why I had always felt as if I had been slowly suffocating with the stale air of the small village that seemed to be falling to pieces as soon as it came to existence. Life was just so boring there. Or so it appeared. At least to me. Granted – there were some good things, like the sun, the food, the always present smell of herbs and flowers, the warmth of people, their quick and loud talking accompanied with gestures, the songs. Oh, the songs - the music of my childhood and youth – I will always carry it in my heart. It was what prompted me to try and discover if there are other kinds of music in the whole wide world as sweet as the music of Italy and my village. And so I discovered American music and later American films. I was hooked from the very start: the musicals, the westerns, Hitchcock suspense thrillers, the romantic comedies… And the music! I have always loved opera and will always argue no other language but Italian is set to sound right for Opera… But the musicals, jazz, blues, rock, rock and roll, even pop… all modern music… no, no other language can do but English… Or rather American English – Dean Martin, Elvis Presley, Doris Day… Oh, Doris Day… She seduced me from the word "go" as soon as I saw the first film she had stared in… One may say that she was solely responsible for my fascination with America…

And so as soon as I had finished school, I packed and immigrated to the US. The old Head Mistress of our Village School predicted disaster on the very first word she had heard about me leaving. She was adamant I would turn even worse that she had expected: forsake the God and his Saints, contract some unspeakable disease or worse still – join the Mafia… I was so scared her predictions could turn true that (even though I really, really wanted to see Big Apple) I never dared to set my foot in New York, Brooklyn and its little Italy…

I settled in one of the smaller towns on the East Coast and soon met Lucille, who later become my wife. Once again – I have to blame Doris Day for that – Lucille was very much her look-a-like and being DD's fan for so many years I fell for her looks hard - hook, line and sinker. What she saw in me is a bit more difficult to say. Maybe it was the Italian endearments I whispered softly in to her ear while kissing, fondling and stroking her great body?.. Never underestimate the power of a foreign language when speaking words of love. Be it Italian, French, Polish, Russian or whatever, it always works like the most potent aphrodisiac… I have always wondered why is it so? Maybe because the other lover not understanding exactly what you are saying can loosen the reigns of his/her imagination and fantasy? Well, never mind – let's just agree it does work…

So I came to the US and in just under a year managed to acquire all I wanted – I had my first car, a great job, a girl – well, wife now as well the white picket fence in front of my dream house. Soon I was to discover all of that did not really matter. I was to learn the real depth of my heart. I was to meet the greatest love of my life – my daughter.

Both Lucille and I were not too keen on starting the family early. I wanted to get established in my job, to earn more money, to buy a better car… Lucille never pressed me to start the family either – later I was to discover she was not a very motherly person. How it happened that she got pregnant is still the greatest mystery to me, but some 4 years into our marriage I was informed that I should start getting more responsible and dependable, quit driving too fast, spending money on cars and accessories for them, stop living with my head in the clouds because I would have another mouth to feed. Was I ready to become a father? Of course not! What man ever is? But – I was Italian and bambini are the blessing, or so our Italian Mammas tell us and we Italians always believe our Mammas. So as it happened – I was awaiting the new arrival with due eagerness – secretly hoping for a boy whom I could teach all there is to know about cars and about the fun that one can have in life.

And then one day early in spring – she came to this world. My Carolina, Mia Cara, Mia Bambina, Mia Piccola Principessa. Life was never the same after that.


	2. Chapter 2 Piccola Principessa di Papa

_Chapter 2: Piccola Principessa di Papa. _

When my sweet daughter, my Carolina, was born, my greatest wish was that someone had come with the idea of Maternity Leave for Fathers. From the very moment I had set my eyes on my daughter I wished I could have been with her 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year… She was such a sweet little thing with the mass of dark hair and huge eyes that soon lost the terrible blue of newborn and turned dark hazel. She had the sweetest smile and I swear her first smiles were for me and the soft Italian words of papa's love I whispered to her little ears.

My wife was not too happy to share her time and her endearments with her daughter. She even accused me of having more sweet Italian names for Carolina than for her… What can I say – the words flew freely on their own and Mia Cara thrived on them – her own first words were Italian not English… But then from the very beginning I regaled her with all the greatest Italian Fairy Tales and Folk Stories, the Myths of old Roman Gods, the wisdom, joys and terrors of Dante's Divine Comedy, the frolics of Boccaccio's work (well, this one I censored a little at the time…) and many, many more. And I sang to her all the great Italian songs: traditional folk songs, Verdi's, Puccini's and Rossini's arias as well as Drupi's and Umberto Tozzi's tunes. Since my wife complained that Carolina (whom she stubbornly called Caroline – with an exaggerated accent on the last syllable) would not learn to speak English properly, all this Italian singing was done while Lucille was out shopping, visiting her friends or at her Golf or Bridge Club. With her mother present, Carolina heard only American songs, but I did not complain – Frank, Elvis, Dean and others, not forgetting Doris, had great songs and I sang them to my daughter with gusto.

Mia Piccola Bambina was very clever from the very beginning – soon she realized that with her Mother present she should behave like a little lady: speak just the English words, sing American songs, eat with knife and fork, sit with straight shoulders, wear only dresses, have her long hair in braids or ponytail and always, always tidy up… But when we were on our own… Well – let's just say we let our hair loose, wore jeans, talked loud not only with our mouth but also our hands and just had fun… I especially loved the vacation time since my daughter and I always took them on our own. Usually Lucille took Carolina to visits her parents for a week or two in the early summer and refused to leave town and her friends for any more periods.

And so my summer break from work was spent with Mia Bambina alone. 24 hours a day, 3 weeks a year. Pure heaven! We mostly spent them by the seaside as both of us just loved the Ocean, its waves, its ever changing color and sounds. We would play in the sand and the water, collect seashells, build sandcastles and take long walks.

I'm glad to say that Mia Cara knew what is good for her when it comes to food from her early age – she much preferred pasta to hamburgers and fries, she quickly decided Cassata was much, much better than Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, that hot dogs were fine, but bruchetta and insalata tricollore were nicer and that American pizza, though great in its own way had nothing to do with its Italian namesake. I'm happy to say that she also much preferred my non alcoholic limoncello to the 7Up or even to the homemade lemonade Lucille's friends prepared for the kids' parties. I even used to let her have few sips of great Italian wine (preferably Barolo) from time to time – diluted with water, after my first (and only) mistake of miscalculating the effects of the alcohol intake by such small bodyweight…

While on our Papa and Cara vacation, we never followed any rules; just had fun. Slept as little or as long as we wanted. Tided our mess only when we felt like it. Wore jeans, dungarees and flip-flops. Mia Tesoro wore dresses only on the days she fancied herself a Principessa. On those days she demanded a Good Morning Song, breakfast in bed, Gelatos for lunch, a nice dress (with red or white slippers to accompany it), flowers and her hand to be kissed. She called herself a Piccola Principessa di Papa on those days. Funnily enough she never demanded the tiaras her mother insisted on buying (as all Little Princesses should have at least one – or so Lucille had said).

The vacation time was never long enough for me and (or so I always hoped) for Mia Cara. But we also had tons of fun back home. Lucille was a rather unimaginative cook, so the kitchen has become my domain early in our marriage even before our daughter arrival. I have always liked to cook and experiment with the herbs and spices of my childhood, so I did not mind "slaving over the cooker or the oven" – but I have never anticipated that cooking and baking could be so much fun until I have tried it with Mia Piccola Principessa. Although my wife never spent much time in the kitchen, she insisted it was equipped with the state of art furnishing, appliances and all the latest gadgets. As it was myself who used them – I never complained. What drove me mad though was my wife's insistence of putting away all the herbs, spices, fruits and vegetables in the pantry after the meal was cooked. And she never stooped as low as to have her meal in the kitchen. In consequence our state of art kitchen was rather cold and uninviting most of the time. I've never thought I would miss something of the Italy of my childhood and youth other than the sun. But I have – I missed the warmth of the kitchen and its smells – I was only ever able to reproduce that for those few fleeting moments while cooking. It was so until Mia Cara came to our lives and especially so when she first started to help me, then was learning to cook and in the end become a proficient "Master (or Mistress) of the Pan" herself. Then Lucille stopped complaining about "the messy" look our kitchen acquired as she decided that Cara (sorry – Ca-ro-LINE) would need to learn household duties and that not every woman can be as lucky as herself to land with a husband who enjoys cooking and does it well. I was not happy with this talk of husbands and marrying young but as it landed me more precious moments with Mia Bambina, I kept my mouth shut.

And so our grey stainless steel kitchen quickly gained colors of rich reds, warm yellows and orange and leafy greens. It started to smell as the kitchen should. It even sounded great as Carolina and I always sang while cooking. Mainly Opera Arias. Once again – Lucille did not complain. She said it would do our daughter well to become "culturally versed in all manners, including Opera" as it "would increase her chances of landing a good catch" since she "could not rely on her looks or wit". Once again – I did not like the talk of landing a husband young and more so the insinuating that Caro was not good looking or not intelligent enough, but throughout the years of my marriage I have learned to keep my mouth shut and my temper under wraps just for the sake of peace and quiet.

Cara and I had lots of fun outside the kitchen, too. My little girl was not too keen on the friends her mother deemed "suitable" for mingling with and so she spent most of her free time reading or listening to the music, when she was not busy cooking or "shooting up the breeze" with her old man. Outside of cooking we also had our other "little projects" as Mia Cara used to call them. We went to the cinema often, planned our escapades to Baltimore for Opera and the Theatre, wandered there around some Museums and Art Galleries…

As I said – Mia Cara's nose was in the books most of the time and later we discovered that she had a knack of writing very good stories and essays for her English Literature assignments. Since her mother was not overly interested, it was I who usually read her homework or lent an ear when she was voicing aloud the analysis of whatever novel or poem they were reading at school. I even tried to convince her to start writing stories as a hobby, but Carolina somehow did not believe she could be creative enough to come up with original plots for her stories. Realizing that had she taken that advise it would have cut down on our father-daughter time, I never pressed her too hard to try. I already was jealous of her time that book-reading took away from me anyway…

So we continued with whatever "project" took our fancy. We even tried to tend to our garden to have more than the grass growing there. Although most of the time it WAS mainly grass, rather over-grown by American standards with dandelions growing freely, attracting butterflies to feed on their nectar in the summer and wind to blow their seeds even more around our garden in the autumn… But we did try… We had a patch of the sweet smelling Lavender growing as well as some herbs. We tried to grow Roses – Carolina especially had set her mind on some peach colored rose called Carding Mill but it only boomed in our garden once… We did not have any more luck with bougainvillea, which seems to grow in Italy like the weed, either. But I did have some luck with growing some Sweet Peas much to my daughter delight (which resulted in my one and only English nickname for my daughter) and she in turn managed quite well with the Viola Tricollore Pansies which she claimed she had grown for me. The Clematis also proved to be a success. And of course we had to have Daisies – those were the first flowers ever my sweet Cara got acquainted with when she was still a crawling infant. We were at the park together with her mother and Mia Bambina crawled off the blanket, ignoring her mother's angry shouts of "not getting herself dirty" or her frock "soiled with the grass (never mind the germs!)". Cara made a quick work of getting to what picked her interest – the wild Daisies - the lovely flowers, albeit not exactly sweet smelling, that the park grass was littered with. Then she proceeded to try to eat it and I had to put the stop to her exploring… But since then – Daisies were always one of her favorite flowers. Anyway – since flower growing was not our forte (we later discovered that some flowering bushes managed to thrive on their own accord mainly and smelled lovely to boot – so we just planted few and gave up pretending to be gardeners) – we decided to grow our own grapes. Before we could do that we had to construct the trellis as support for the vines. And thus our Verandah took shape. And also - that's how I discovered I was quite handy with woodwork and that working on something with my own hands gave me surprising pleasure – I guess it must be something to do with the genes – my grandfather was a carpenter. And yes – his name was Gepetto – Mia Bambina used to joke that for sure I must be related to Pinocchio as my nose grew whenever I tried to fib her… Nevertheless – on top of car-tinkering, woodwork had become my other hobby and I would disappear to my newly created workshop in the basement whenever my Cara deserted me for books.

Grape growing also led to another hobby – namely wine-making. I could not call myself l'Italiano Vero had I not given a try to the process. The wine Caro and I managed to produce was not spectacular as the climate we live in is not warm and sunny enough, the grape juice we managed to preserve though, coupled with some strong alcohol (preferably vodka as it does not have any taste of its own), resulted with a very nice home-made liqueur… We continued experimenting and found out that brandy and grape juice also gave interesting results. And once again – this little project has led to another hobby – one that I could share with my daughter albeit in secret. I was very happy to discover my Little Sweet Pea was very quick on learning how the winemaking process works, on the differences of various grape kinds and the tastes of different wines. Of course she was much too young by American standards and Law to be openly tasting any alcoholic beverages, but then, I argued with myself, she WAS of Italian descent and thus had to have it in her blood. So I continued teaching her about making, tasting and enjoying the wine. We even managed to sneak to Napa Valley few times to tour various vineries. Lucille never knew about this our little "guilty secret". Had she known – I wonder – how would she classify the wine knowledge versus wifely accomplishments – as the "household duties" or the "cultural refinement"? But since we never divulged – I have never learned…

Whatever "project" we would undertake however, whatever we fancied doing together – one thing was constant; THE MUSIC. We listened to the music together, discussed it and sang, always sang together – mainly the Opera and Operetta Arias and standards from the Musicals, but really – we could have sung anything and everything (driving Carolina's mother crazy sometimes… Her words not ours!).

No, I'm lying (checking my nose for growth…) – there was one, just one time when music was not helping, more even – when it seemed to hinder the progress… It was my attempt to teach my daughter to drive. Oh what a disaster it was! I started as any full-bloodied male would – explaining how the car works, how the engine is its heart, what happens when one presses the clutch pedal, etcetera, etcetera… Mia Piccola (it was also the time when she started to object to be called Piccola – so maybe this fact also made me a little less patient with her and her inability to grasp the workings of a car…), Mia Principessa told me in clipped words that she did not need all the said knowledge in order to "get from point A to point B" successfully. It was a dark, dark time for me – I never had known being a patient father required so much self-restraint – suffice to say I took to drinking at least one BIG glass of cognac after our driving sessions… Grazzie di Dio she never requested me to let her drive my Cadillac – I'd have died of the heart attack on the spot! Let's just say – the little British books I picked up at some garage sale – namely "Keep Calm And Carry On" and "Sod Calm And Get Angry" helped a lot!

After many lessons (and many BIG cognac glasses on my part) Mia Cara managed to grasp the mystery of "getting from point A to point B" with some (moderate in my opinion – but I kept this opinion to myself) success and managed to pass the Driving Test. I bought an old Ford Pinto for her – a mass produced car seemed to be most appropriate for Mia Cara's way of driving and, more importantly, her way of looking (or rather not looking) after the vehicle – I was sure its life would not last long. Funny that she still drives this car – I'd never have imagined it could have lasted for so many years…


	3. Chapter 3 Reluctant Father of the Bride

_Charter 3 The Reluctant Father of the Bride._

And so, Mia Piccola Principessa di Papa steadily continued to grow and develop. She was always a very pleasing looking girl – to my eye she had always been a true beauty, although in a more ripe Italian manner, not necessarily very fashionable nowadays and especially not so in America of the 80s. But suddenly somewhere around her 17th birthday she blossomed as a true Italian Rose would – suddenly she grew quite a few inches, lost her "puppy fat", her face acquired some interesting angles, her already big eyes grew even bigger…

When most of her peers suffered with bad skin condition, Mia Cara's complexion (although not "cream and strawberries" I admired so much on Doris Day and later my wife) was clear and smooth as a velvet. She was also blessed with my rather dark looks, which she learned to appreciate especially in the summer when, even though she used sun-creams with filters and what-not, she turned a lovely dark chocolate in a manner of days. And she was lucky enough to posses this lovely skin coloring that in the winter months stays a light caramel not the sickly looking olive with a green tint, that most Italian women seem to have.

She had always wore her hair long – but suddenly it increased not only in length but also in volume. It has always been her biggest pride and joy – the long luxurious mane of hair, silky to touch and glossy looking. Somehow though her dark brown hair got some streaks of lighter chestnut that I could only compare to the caramel sauce and some deep burgundy glowing in the sun like the rich, warm full-bodied Barolo wine. Her dark eyelashes grew even longer and shaded her lovely eyes which were paired with the dark eyebrows that added character to her beautiful face. I heard her complaining about them to be too thick and about having have to do some plucking as well as she had to with other "un-needed body hair". Which "un-needed body hair" I never discovered or cared to discover, fearing it would be too much for my poor father's ears. (By the way – why do women insist on all that fight with the natural body hair is above my understanding; especially as from what I have heard it is a not very easy and rather painful process… Oh, well – women and their ways…)

Strangely enough, Lucille, who always complained about our daughter not inheriting her good looks, when faced with this new "improved" and truly stunningly beautiful creature, was not too pleased. If I did not know it is highly unlikely for a mother to be jealous of her daughter, I'd say that's what she really was, but maybe Cara just stepped on her mother's toes with some high and mighty remark she sometimes was prone to.

Whatever the reason – suddenly our house was full of the sounds of angry feminine voices and continuously slammed doors. I must say it got a bit too much for me – Lucille voice was never of a too nice timbre, especially when she was in her whining mode; shouting though pushed it to a really unbearable pitch. I was also surprised to discover that Mia Principessa's (she refused to be called piccola anymore) voice, although lovely when it carried high notes of the arias, was not too pleasing when raised in a quarrel, either…

And so more and more often I took refuge in my garage fiddling with my cars or in the basement in my woodwork workshop. More and more often as well I had to resort to upping the volume on my trusted old vinyl records player while listening to my music. I learned by trial and error that Puccini's and Rossini's work seemed to drawn the screeching noises best, and so listened to their Operas, forsaking my much beloved Verdi and Mozart. I must say here that Mozart is the only composer of not Italian origin whose talent I do admire. I even love his operas which are not originally accompanied by the libretto in Italian. However nowadays whenever I listen to The Enchanted Flute (one of my favorite non-Italian operas) I always have to skip the Queen of the Night Aria as the sound reminds me too much of the dark, dark days that descended on our house at those times…

Alienating myself further and further from my wife's and daughter's everyday life at those times, I have only myself to blame for the outcome and for not acting early enough to ensure my daughter's, Mia Cara's, Mia Principessa's, My Sweet Pea's future happiness. Like many fathers before me, I ended up facing the exact, classic father's nightmare of so many theatrical or movie dramas and operas…

I was not vigilant enough when this… this… this other male slowly but surely managed to sneak in and claim the empty space at My Sweet Pea's side that my absence managed to create. Poor excuse of man! Though I have to admit he does have a good taste in cars. Women too, judging by the fact that it was Mia Cara, My Carolina who caught his eye…

He was a much older man than my Sweet Little Girl – 11 years difference is a lot and even more so when the young one is 18 the other party is 29… For such a young girl in the tender age of being easily impressed and influenced, he must have seemed the epitome of wisdom, maturity and male charm. The fact that he was a Naval Officer and wore his Whites with poise and flourish must have helped his cause, too. As much as my wife, Lucille - who did nothing more than sang his virtues all day long and kept telling our Wonderful, Sweet and Beautiful Daughter how happy she should feel and how grateful she should be for attracting such man's attention…

Listening to her sickening talk one would have to wonder who was my wife's child – him, or Carolina? Sometimes I had a suspicion that most of those praises she sang in David Wilson's honor and the fact that she pushed Carolina into his arms, had their roots in plain, ugly jealousy and envy of the older woman towards the younger, prettier one… But then she was, IS, her mother… Surely my notions were mistaken?.. It must be just that the fact of my own inability to deal with the situation was making me questioning my wife's motives…

Anyway – I was not able to deal with the situation at all. The situation of which I simply learned too late… And all due to my stupid selfishness and longing for some peace and quiet…

...I'm sure all the girls from school were duly impressed, jealous and green with envy… But was this the reason to get married at 19, I ask you? Surely not! Surely My Cara, My Carolina, Mia Bambina, My Piccola… well, no, not Piccola anymore, nor Little - My Princess, who always was such a sweet, level-headed girl should have seen that and understood the lack of my enthusiasm…

She should, no she WOULD listen to her Papa and take into account the advise he's dishing… Or so I was deceiving myself into hoping... But no, My Sweet Pea, Mia Bambina, Mia Tesoro was set to get wed at such young age and to the man 11 year her senior. And so uncharacteristically for her – she seemed to be as stubborn as a mule on this subject! What had happened? How had it happened? When had My Sweet Girl changed into this stubborn, unyielding woman? I was at a loss both for the answers to those questions and more importantly for the bigger questions yet: "Will she be happy in that marriage?", "Does he really truly love her?" (he seemed to be as found and as proud of her as he was of his bloody little, fast European car…). "Will he, does he recognize what prize he has won?", "Will he be capable of allowing her to grow and develop into the woman she has a potential to become?" Or: "Will he just stifle her like a candle that somehow managed to burn too fast?"

All those questions kept wheeling in my mind, not allowing me any restful sleep at night. My heart was heavy with some bad premonition…Meanwhile my wife was busy choosing the color scheme for the wedding, the dress, the venue, the…. Oh, listening to her planning Mia Bambina's wedding, my heart grew heavier and heavier and the guilt on not helping and protecting Mia Piccola (yes – she still was my little girl – and she always will be – nothing is going to change that!) Principessa from the dangers of life and the dragons that awaited at every corner or so it seemed… The only ray of light that I had at that time was the thought that now My Tesoro would be able to learn the other great Love – the Love a Parent can feel for his/her child…

So I had no choice – one day in the Summer of 1990 I found myself a very much reluctant, but nevertheless – the FATHER OF THE BRIDE…


End file.
